


Ticci Toby - Origin Story

by headguts



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: Origin Story, Other, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 23:17:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17233019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headguts/pseuds/headguts





	Ticci Toby - Origin Story

Screaming. Screaming. A tall man with no face. He looked like a lamppost. Something was wrong. Screaming. Then black.

The ride home was just as cold and unforgiving. It felt as if it droned on and on, like it had been hours of just sitting, head pressed against the window. The houses lit warmly gave an envious feeling in the kids chest. An ill feeling that wound around his stomach a drill.

There was only him and his mother in the car. She was a beautiful older woman. Dark brown curly hair, that was pulled into a ponytail. She had light green eyes that usually stood out like gemstones, but now they looked dull. Lifeless. Her arms were shaking and her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Occasional stray tears rolling down her cheeks. She made no noise, not a sob, not a deep breath. She was completely silent. Her makeup was running, so there was no hiding her true feelings. She had gone through something truly painful, and the black wet lines upon her cheeks were the proof.

Her son behind her wasn't quite as stunning, no, his skin was pale, grey from anemia. His hair was mousy and grey, and sticking up in every direction, long enough that people could mistake him for a girl. He had dark circles under his eyes that mimicked the look of bruises, he was wearing a slightly bloodied white t-shirt and blue scrubs, as his clothes he wore just before the accident were tattered and too ripped to stay on. The right side of his face bared quite a few cuts and bruises, a slit through his eyebrow and another through his bottom lip that required stitches. His arm, chest, and stomach had been covered in wounds, areas where the glass and sharp metal had entered his body.

The injuries looked painful upon inspection, but you would learn they were like a mere paper cut. The kid had incredibly high pain tolerance, some could say it was unnatural. They found this out when he had broke his arm in the 4th grade, and he didn't cry. The doctors say it's a marvel, and that he's lucky he can't feel the impact of the injuries. The doctors at the hospital practically knew him by name, since he visited so often. This wasn't the only hospital he frequented, the mental health clinic also knew him by name. He had seen every therapist in the area, which really isn't saying much since it is a small area after all. He used to go to emotional therapy once a week and cognition therapy once every other week. He had a certain 'quirk’ to him. He had little tics, fidgets. He would flap his hands, or his eyes would twitch, or he’d crack his neck. He'd do these throughout the day, ranging from one every hour to multiple in a matter of minutes. Sometimes they were involuntary and happened like a sneeze, sometimes they were voluntary, and he did it to express himself. Either way, it led him to get mocked out in public. His high school peers bullying him into submission. The nickname that stuck the most was 'Ticci-Toby’. When the bullying turned physical, his mother resorted to homeschooling.

Toby Erin Rogers was what was written on the band around his wrist. He kept eyeing at it, the name felt foreign. Every bump, every turn made his stomach sink, and his head duck down. Every time he saw a car approaching theirs, he began to panic. That is because last time he was in a car, it had crashed. They say you remember every moment of a car crash, but it was all a blur. A black flash, and then sirens. That was the last time he saw his sister. Bloodied, dead.

Toby closed his eyes, once again pressing his forehead against the window. It was cold against his hot skin. The image of his sister replayed in his head. Her screaming. The sudden stop of her screaming. He silently wept, big round bubbly tears fell from his eyes.

The time passed as he thought, and they arrived before he knew it. For a while there he didn't recognize where he was, but then realized that his mother had taken the back roads, to avoid the crash. Connie, his mother, pulled into the driveway. The neighborhood was cute, a simple neighborhood, mostly filled with nice old people who made sweets for their fellow neighbors. The thing that stood out to Toby was the black Subaru parked outside of their house. An immediate sickness overthrew Toby, a rage. His vision reddened. His father. His father who wasn't there.

Before Connie could step out, Toby gently grabbed her arm, tears welling in his eyes.

“Why is he here?” Toby said through his teeth, his mother opening the car door and gently pulling Toby's hand off.

“He-” Connie searched for the right words. She knew Toby had a distrust for his father, and she didn't want to feed into it. “He's here to talk to you….To apologize”

“Right, because that can be fixed with an apology” Toby said furrowing his brows. He opened his door before his mother could for him, and stepped out. This stance was uneasy but he tried to hold himself strong against his father. His knees felt weak and shaky, and the world was spinning.

Toby's father, Ron, walked towards Connie and Toby with open arms, expecting an embrace, but the two continued walking forward, ignoring his opening. Connie kept her hand on Toby’s back, guiding him inside.

Ron's face dropped, and he let out a sigh.

“Toby?” He called out, Toby turning around at the call of his name, and letting out a little grunt in response.

“You'll understand when you're older. I just couldn't have made it, it wasn't safe for me to drive. This is all just a big misunderstanding and-”

“You don't seem to understand” Toby choked back tears as he spoke. “You could've taken a bus, or gotten a ride. You could've done literally anything and it would've been better than nothing. What about a phone call!? What about a TEXT!?”

Ron stayed quiet, his face twisting from a seemingly apologetic one to one full of anger. He clenched his teeth, and balled his fist.

“You say it like I didn't TRY you ungrateful little shit! You should KNOW better!” Ron stood tall, fists still balled.

Connie began walking again, leading Toby to the house.

“And don't pretend you aren't fueling this! Let the kid walk by himself, he's sixteen for fucks sake”

“He's seventeen” Connie said, staring ahead of her as she unlocked the door. She attempted to guide Toby in, but he stood his ground.

“No, no, I'm sixteen. I can walk myself” Toby said sarcastically as he stormed into the house and up the stairs. He slammed the door, and locked it from the inside. Letting his emotions take over him, he screamed and kicked. His fit slowly changed from rage to sadness, and ended with him crying on the floor.

His room was cluttered with toys and collectibles and posters, yet lacked anything 'adult’. He had nothing sharp in his room, and everything lacked organization. What was clean though, was his desk. Which had a small laptop, a handheld game system, and a picture of his family on it. It had all four of them, before he grew a hatred towards his father. Before he grew distant and abusive. Before he would scream at Toby's mother, before he would hit Lyra. Toby never minded the punches his father gave him. But it was what he did to Connie and Lyra that built his hate. Lyra, taking her last breath, and his father being the only one not to rush to her side, was what broke the straw on the camel's back. He should've been there.

Toby got up from the floor, and walked to his window sill, he pressed his forehead against the window, and peered out. It felt good against his skin. He scanned the streets down, looking at everything below him. At first he saw what he thought was to be a lamp post, but it was in the street. His vision fizzled and he shook his head, looking back down. The figure was gone. He glared down at the street for a minute, contemplating if what he just saw was actually there. After a few minutes of wracking his brain, he remembered he hasn't been on his meds for a few days, since he was in a hospital. That could probably be the cause of it.

Dinner time came and went, Toby wasn't hungry. Instead he watched his father eat. Toby had a habit of staring at people, even when it got awkward. His father banged his hand on the table and said “Would you quit staring like a freak?! I'm just eating!” which caused Toby to jump, and look at his food.

His mother walked him to his room, stepping over the piles of clothes and toys on the floor. He curled up in his bed, and she sat on the side of it. She looked down at Toby, who was facing towards the wall with his back to her. She ran her fingers across his back, which startled him at first, but he then relaxed. This reminded him of when he was a child, and she'd rub his back every night.

“It's hard right now, I know. But it'll get better, and you'll feel better.” She said with a shaky tone. Almost as if she was unsure of her words.

“When is he leaving?” Toby muttered, ignoring her positive words. The niceness of the words but the uncertainty of her voice made his stomach hurt.

“I-...” She let her gaze drift to the floor, and stopped rubbing his back. “I don't know. For all I know, he's staying”

Toby didn't respond, and Connie didn't add anything. They sat motionless as the silence ate away at them. Connie closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh, then stood up. With a “goodnight”, she walked out, and shut the door. Toby knew he couldn't sleep. Every time he tried, the image of her played. It should've been you, the voices played. Her scream repeated. It should've been you.

Toby rolled and jerked in his bed, tears rolling down his cheeks. Anxiety raised in his gut like a dragon blowing fire, it burned. He screamed into his pillow, wailing into the soft cushion, which muffled the noise. He cried and cried, kicking his legs, howling. His tears were hot and stung his eyelids. He clenched his eyes shut and panted. After a couple minutes of straight crying, he threw the pillow across the room and sat up. He took deep breaths, calming himself down as he arose to his feet. Rubbing his eyes to clear his vision, he stepped to his window and peered out. Immediately he noticed the figure. The faceless, lamp-post like figure, with a long black body. The world grew colorful like holding a magnet to a TV, glitchy. A few crackles crawled through his ears, and something began ringing. He couldn't look away. The thought of looking away never crossed his mind. It's like it made him draw a blank. The ringing grew louder as the world grew distorted. Something pulled him down by his back, slamming him onto the floor. Everything went black.

Toby awoke on the floor, and the blank was still there. It's like he had hit his head, and his thoughts were muffled and censored. Stumbling up, he stared at the wall. He had tunnel vision, and was dizzy. Staring at his hands, he began making it out of his room, knocking into the door, for he forgot it was closed. He opened it and made his way down the stairs. His mother was cooking in the kitchen, as his father had a beer in hand, watching TV. He slowly walked over to his mother, and stood behind her.   
She jumped as she saw him out of the corner of her eye.

“Oh! Good Morning,” she gave a soft smile and stroked his hair, her fingers getting caught in the tangles. She gently pulled them out. Toby looked behind her at the oven clock. It was 12:37 pm.

“I made breakfast, but it got cold. I didn't want to wake you, so I figured I could just reheat it” she said concerned, as Toby had not said a word.

Toby turned around, walking towards his father on the couch. He sat next to his father. It should've been you…..it should've been him. The voices repeat. If his mind wasn't so scrambled, maybe he'd take his meds. Or realize that something was wrong. But instead, he splayed out his fingers like a fan, and robotically reached out for his father's arm. He gently pressed his hand against the arm. It was warm, but Toby barely had time to register it, as his father smacked his hand away.

“Don't touch me boy!” He was obviously drunk already.

Toby flinched, and Connie spoke up.

“Hey! That is the last thing we need right now! He didn't mean any harm by it!” She raised her voice. Toby didn't respond, and just stood up and walked to his room.

Toby began displaying behaviors similar to ones he used to show as a child. Before he started seeing therapists and psychiatrists and taking meds. He began isolating himself more and more, pacing in his room day and night. When he was outside of his room, he began showing signs of relapse.

He would ramble about hallucinations he's had, or delusions he's had. He began twitching and flapping more. He began dissociating and moaning and spacing out while talking. Something was wrong. His mother grew increasingly worried.

Ron began relapsing as well, falling deeper and deeper into his abusive routines. Get up, stay sober for a few hours. Start drinking. Watch tv, yell and scream and hit if anyone interrupts him. Connie began to fall into the routine too, becoming more submissive and tied to his demands.

In his room, Toby would mess with his old radio. He would tune it between two channels and press it against his ear, volume blasted all the way up. He'd draw images of the man he'd see outside his window. He'd draw and draw until his room was filled with sharpie fumes and he’d black out.

Connie thought it'd be good to bring him out, so she stopped leaving him in the house alone. Anytime she went to buy groceries she would bring him. They were out in the vegetable isle and the lights of the grocery store began flickering. Toby's brain began to glitch, the dark seemed darker and the light seemed brighter. He clapped his hands over his temples and began groaning.

“Toby? Toby what's wrong?” Connie gently grabbed Toby's arm, causing him to flinch and yank away.

“THE-nnGG,” he huffs and twitches rapidly “THE L-LIGHTS,” he said covering his eyes with his hands and stumbling back right into someone picking out some peppers. Connie grabbed Toby and guided him back to their cart, looking at the lady and bowing her head down.

“I am so sorry, are you OK?” she spoke with an apologetic tone in her voice as she rubbed Toby’s shoulders.

“Yes i'm OK, but is your daughter alright?” The woman said innocently. If Toby was even paying attention it would've been like a punch in the gut.

“Y-yes I think he's OK,” Connie didn't bother correcting her. “Thank you,” she began guiding Toby into a different isle, as he kept his eyes covered.

Over the next few days Toby's sensitivity to bright and flashing lights grew. Ron grew more and more annoyed with the fact they had to keep the lights dimmed or off. Connie came home with a pair of light dimming goggles, both to benefit Toby when he went out with her, and to calm down Ron and keep him from throwing a fit.

Toby would wear the goggles regularly. It helped with the flashing lights he almost constantly hallucinated, but they isolated him further. His mother could never tell what he was thinking and the strangers at grocery stores and gas stations thought he was weird and freaky.

Toby’s thoughts would wander, but none of them were coherent. They were about his imaginary friends, or the sharks in the sink. He'd try and talk and sometimes disjointed words would come out in a random order. Sometimes he'd go days without talking. He began chewing on his fingers as a way to cope with the numbness. He would chew and chew until they bled, and then start on a new finger. He'd also chew on the insides of his cheeks, and pick at his face. His mother walked in on him destroying his fingers, and had nearly called 911. She bandaged up his hands, and tried to talk to him about it. But nothing that came out made sense. That night, toby had a panic attack in the bathroom. He took a razor to his head, cutting off his long hair into a buzz cut. He couldn’t stop looking at himself, he looked so much like his father with short hair. He took his hand and punched the mirror, over and over, until it broke. Screaming, he continued to hit the mirror shards. They punctured his knuckles. Connie woke up and ran to the bathroom, finding Toby on the floor, cradling his glass filled hand and screaming.

Connie set up an appointment out of town with a new therapist. She didn't know what to do, and every day Toby grew worse. He began drawing distorted figures, tall lanky figures with long arms and no face. He would ramble about seeing figures at his bed. At them holding him and calling him in. Calling for him. She was scared for him. She didn't know what to do.

Before stopping at the therapists, she took him out clothes shopping. Making sure he had his goggles, and something to play with when he got too nervous. He had one of those little fidget cubes from the internet, and kept that in his pocket. They walked into the store and Connie said he could pick out anything he likes. That made him excited, or as excited as he could be. It felt as if there was a big blanket over his emotions.

Toby picked out a brown and green striped hoodie, some big black boots, a skull mask, and a new white and blue baseball cap. He’s wanted this outfit since he saw it online, and his mother finally let him get it.

They got back in the car and headed out of town, they talked, almost as if everything was normal. They told jokes, and laughed, and got coffee. Connie felt as if things were really looking up. Parking the car, the two got out, Toby had his new shoes and mask on. The mask covering one part of his face, and the goggles covering the other park.

She walked in, one hand gently guiding Toby into the building. She walked up to the desk. “I have an appointment for Toby Rogers” she spoke trying to sound as professional as she can.

“Yes, right this way” The woman at the desk got up and walked to a wooden door, unlocking it with her key card and walking them to a room with three chairs in it. There were puppets in a basket and a salt rock and some toys in the corner. Toby sat down and stared blankly at the salt rock.

“Toby, i'm going to wait out here, OK?” His mother said. After Toby looked at her and nodded she walked back to the waiting room.

After about a minute or two, a woman in a black turtleneck and a green skirt came in. She was holding a cup of coffee and a clipboard. She smiled at Toby.

“You're Toby, aren't you?” She asked sweetly. Her voice was young and soft. Toby nodded. She had light blonde hair just like lyra, and his own hair if he was healthier. Toby opened his mouth to say something, but she interrupted him, not realizing he was going to speak.

“I like your outfit, very…..Punk alternative,” she said with a supportive tone. Toby looked down.

“Thank yo-you,” he said politely as he made his way to the chair. He swung his feet and looked around, absorbing the room and everything in it. There was a watercolor painting that said ‘do what you love’ and a picture of snoopy that looked like a child colored it.

“Do you always dress like that?”

“Sort of? The ma-a-ask is ne-ew, the-e goggles he-elp with my pani-ic attack-cks.”

“Hm, I see. Is the mask just a fashion thing?”

“Yea-ah”  
They continued to talk like this for a while, dancing around the truth of why he's here. She talked to him about his panic attacks, and light sensitivity, and other minor things. Toby got bored, and began looking out the window as he answered. That's when he saw it, the creature. Its following him out of town. He jumped, but he couldn't look away.

“Toby do you think you could look at me when I talk to you?” the therapist asked nicely, but all Toby could hear is static and ringing. He could almost make out voices, in the static. It sounded like Lyra, like she was calling out to him. He could see her, behind the creature. Body in a golden light. He began breathing hard and heavily, tears welling in his eyes.

“Toby? Toby look at me,” the therapist said in a concerned tone, standing up and walking over to Toby. She sat next to him, but he didn’t even notice. “Toby, please-” With a worried look in her eyes, she gently touched him on the shoulder. He twitched and swung around to look at her.

Her face was disfigured, right jaw disconnected and hanging low, her left ear completely ripped off. Blood splattered onto toby's face and her eyes turned white and dead like a fish's eyes. Her jaw moved and hung open, and she gargled. Blood splattered on his goggles and he clenched his eyes shut and began to scream. He felt his body go limp, and everything went black.

The next thing Toby knew was that he's in the passenger seat of his mother's car, he was violently shaking. He began crying into his hands. Connie reached out and touched his shoulder gently, rubbing his shoulder and neck.

“It's gonna be ok, thi-...whatever's going on, it's going to go away,” she said desperate to believe it herself. Toby had no idea how he got there, or if what happened was even real. He cried and cried, barely able to breath.

As they got home, Toby walked inside and set his things on the table. Taking off his goggles and setting them with his hoodie and mask. He didn’t eat dinner, his father glared at him, and groaned when Toby refused to eat dinner. He said something about needing a drink, but Toby’s ears were full of static. He went upstairs around nine, and headed straight for bed.

He didn’t fall asleep right away, instead he counted the bumps of the popcorn ceiling above him. His mind was absent, void of any real substance. His eyes were glazed over and tired, but he didn’t feel it. He didn’t feel much of anything. What he could feel was himself drifting off into an unconscious state. His eyes began fluttering, as he felt himself fall into slumber. Until he heard footsteps, small ones, running down the hall. He shot up from his slumber and looked around. Nothing was in his room making noises. In fact other then the very obvious footsteps that creaked down the hall there was no noise at all. He got to his feet, and walked over to the open doorway. He slowly reached out to grab the handle, but the door quickly slammed with the force of ten men. Toby fell backwards and let out a scream, eyes wide open, chest pounding.

“Hello!? Dad?” He called out, a mixture of fear and anger in his voice. He slowly got up again, and stared at the knob of the door. Reaching out, his bandaged hand grasped the knob and carefully and oh so slowly opened it. The door squeaked, but it opened like a regular door. Toby peered outside, and quietly took a couple steps forward. Walking out into the middle of the hallway he began to pad at the bandages on his hands. The sound of small footsteps circled him, spinning him. He could hear the faint noise of children laughing.

“Mom?” He called once again, still no response. It was eerie and cold, the hallway stretched and grew and Toby stared down. His stomach felt wrong, like it was doing flips and that he was about to throw up. The door quickly slammed right behind him, and locked shut. Toby jumped and let out a yelp, spinning around towards the door and backing up, until he backed up into something soft and cold. He heard a moan behind him, like something from a horror movie. He slowly looked behind him, not wanting to see what it was, and what a horror it was.

It was his sister, looking exactly how she did when she died. Blood soaked, hair pulled into a long messy ponytail, missing patches of her hair. Her eyes looked like dead fish eyes, milky and white, her skin pale and grey with gashes dripping dark red. The right side of her jaw ripped clean off, she groaned and gurgled like she was drowning in her own blood. Her clothes bloody ripped and dirty, she gently put her hand on Toby's shoulder. Toby stumbled back and began to scream, tripping over his own feet and slamming backwards onto the floor, his head knocking against the hardwood floors and caused the world to spin and ring. Toby let out a groan as he touched the back of his head, blood, just a little bit. He stammered up. Lyra reached out again for him, trying to touch him, but Toby slammed her against the wall, running past her and screaming. Not looking where he was going, he ran into another figure. The tall faceless man he’d seen multiple times before. He never got this close to it. He took a few steps back, staring at the creature. Tears welling in his eyes as he stuttered over his words.

“B-b-b-buh-” Was all he could get out before his vocals shut down as he started crying. Children, creatures, with dark black eyes and bloody faces, missing pieces of skin and limbs. They had twisted smiled on their faces. Toby felt soft, cold hands wrap around his shoulders in a back hug, and a whisper in his ear.

“Give in,” Then everything went black.

Toby woke up with a scream, sputtering and coughing, crying. His face was wet and hot. Wiping his eyes with his bandages hands, he let out a sob. He sobbed and sobbed, then slowly, he stopped. He stared at his floor without moving. He could hear the TV playing from downstairs, his father must’ve fallen asleep watching it. He felt something control his body, stumbling towards the door. His thoughts were nonexistent, like he wasn’t himself. He wasn’t Toby. Who was he.

Toby made himself through the hall, and down the stairs, and he felt the same hands from his dream. But this time, fear didn’t follow. Instead, comfort. The hands were warm this time, and Lyra’s voice played through his head. She comforted him, telling him everything was OK, that he was safe with her, as long as he listened to her. As long as he did exactly what she told him. He believed her.

Lyra stepped in front of him, skin repaired. She looked as if she was an angel, warm and golden. Her hand gently took Toby's, and she lead him to the kitchen. Smiling, she lead him to the counter, and pulled the drawer open.

“Take it, Toby, Take it. You want to, I know you do.”

Toby took the knife, holding it in his bandaged hands, staring at his reflection in the newly sharpened knife. It was clean, so very clean. His hands were shaking, but he wasn’t scared. He felt calm, comfortable, and safe. Something he longed for since her death. She gave him a soft smile, and he couldn’t see her eyes.

He followed her movements, walking through the kitchen and into the living room, where his father slept. Toby stood, staring at the older man. Toby couldn’t help but think about how ugly he was, how disgusting he looked. A neckbeard and a wife beater. He slept, stomach rising and falling. He looked like a cliche alcoholic. A hatred grew in Tobys chest, he felt it rise like bile and felt like he was going to throw up. He drew his eyebrows together in disgust, snarling quietly. Lyra stood next to him, and grabbed the hand that had the knife in it, pushing it close to Toby's chest. She continued to smile.

“Do it, I know you want to. You’ll feel better, You’ll feel safe.”

Toby believed her, and a smile crawled across his face. Never, never again, will he have to deal with his father. He will never see his mother get hurt, or beat, or screamed at. He’ll never feel his father's hands around his throat, or his knuckles against his face. His smile grew wide, and his eyes grew wild.

Toby let out a little giggle, and plunged the knife deep into Ron’s stomach, which woke him up immediately. He let out a howl, and grabbed Toby by his throat, tossing him to the ground. Stumbling up, then toppling over onto his knees. He grabbed the knife out of his stomach and slashed at Toby, cutting him on top of his thigh. Toby let out a loud yelp and grabbed his father by his hair, and threw him to the floor. Ron weakly reached for the knife.   
“CONNIE!! CO-” He began coughing up blood, and inhaled to start screaming again. Toby wrestled the knife out of Ron’s hand, and won. He stabbed his father in the throat, then multiple times in the chest, stomach, and shoulders. Once Ron stopped moving, Toby sat on his body, breathing heavily and flapping his hands. It was quiet, so quiet. Lyra pet his hair. Then the silence was broke.

“TOBY!?” Connie screamed, she was in her pink robe and slippers. Eyes welling in tears “T-TOBY WHAT THE FUCK,” she screeched, she ran towards them.

“Run.” Lyra commanded. Toby backed away from the body, then ran through the kitchen, grabbing his hoodie, goggles, and mask, before running into the backyard. Connie chased after him, but wasn’t fast enough. She went for the next best thing, and grabbed the landline, dialing in 911.

Toby ran around the house and slammed open the gate, running into the garage, grabbing something to protect him and lyra with, an old red hatchet, a box of matches, and a gasoline tank. Then bolted out of the house. He stood at the front lawn for a few seconds, until he heard sirens. His stomach twisted and turned, and he felt giddy. Lyra pet his hair once again.

“We need to go.” She said calmly.

“Rig-right,” Toby swallowed hard. He kicked open the gasoline and lit a match. It spilled everywhere, getting on the grass and road, as he dumped it out all over his neighborhood. He threw the match down and ran as fast as he could. As he made it towards the forest, He tripped over a small cliff in the woods, falling and smashing his head upon a rock. He rolled down the hill and landed at the bottom, in a puddle of mud. His pants ripped, his arms cut up, the right side of his head bleeding. His vision went blurry, and he began to cry.

“LY-LYR-” he wheezed and sobbed, “LYRA.” was the only thing he was able to get out. He felt a cold, dead hand on his back, which promptly picked him up, his knees buckling and he almost falls, but something holds him up. The tentacles of the figure, the limbs. It stares at him, and he makes contact with it, brain going blank as he fell into warm nothingness. It glitched, squealing rang through his ears. But it was calm, it was nothing. Void.

The next thing Toby knew, was that he was outside a large mansion in the forest, the only thing he could remember was the murder of his father, a guardian angel, and his own name. All he knew was that he was never going to let anyone hurt him or his sister again.


End file.
